


Sparks And Metal

by Rixxy8173571m3W1p3



Category: Jane and the Dragon (Cartoon)
Genre: Advice, Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Angst and Drama, Blacksmithing, Comfort/Angst, Cross-Post, Denial, Drama, Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Repressed, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Feelings, Feels, Flirting, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Future Fic, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I go by a diffrent username on FF.net, Inspired by Fanfiction, Jealousy, Knights - Freeform, Longing, Love, Medieval, Men Crying, Mentors, Multi, One of My Favorites, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pigs, Pining, Refrain, Relationship(s), Romance, Ruminations, Unrequited Love, ambiguous past
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:48:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29822391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rixxy8173571m3W1p3/pseuds/Rixxy8173571m3W1p3
Summary: It would not do, what does a blacksmith need of a Knight?
Relationships: Gunther Breech & Jane Turnkey, Jester & Jane Turnkey, Jethro "Smithy" Junior/Jane Turnkey





	1. Foolish

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this on Fanfiction.net under my username [Jatd4ever](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/5724289/Jatd4ever), but since there is a lack of Smithy content on here, I thought I’d cross post all my chapters and update both when I upload new chapters.

He dreamed of her again.

When he woke, he was not so much ashamed, but embarrassed; it was natural to dream of daily activity or many fantastical things, but of his friends, her more specifically, he should not. However, at least he was happy, if not for a little while as he dressed and thought to himself about the foolishness a dream could be. His heavy leather apron reminded him of his current reality; the bite of the morning air prickled his exposed skin, but he knew that refreshment would not last when he was before his forge again. He was not as hungry as he had been on other days, so he took a few apples to eat later. 

Dawn was painted in the sky before long; the sight of it hopeful and bright. The rising sun meant little to those in his position who woke early and worked from morning to night. Yet, time was moving and there was so much to be done; time would not allow him to enjoy such comforts as the dawn. In a castle, even in one with as few inhabitants as Kippernia Castle, there were keys to be made, buckles to be broken, items to be hung, and so on. Already, early in the day, he had several horses that needed to be brushed and inspected; this part he found to be an added privilege. 

Oh, and how could he forget, Sir Ivon wanted his latest weapon to be sharpened, just so that it may go back to the weaponry to collect dust. He sighed, and soon enough he laid out the necessary pieces needed for the repair he planned to do later. From the shade of his forge, he had a good view of the knights as they trained their squires, and he watched from time to time. Oh yes, he watched her from time to time, and that was the problem. In the world in which he lived, there would likely be problems with his current thinking, but he could not bring himself not to do so.

Admiration in her discipline and fluid movements drew him. Concentration in her brow, arms raised in anticipation to strike, she was reading herself; her face was not so pretty when she finally struck the dummy in violence, but something was comforting in the familiarity, as well as intriguing in the change; no other lady he knew could pull off such a look. The dummy stood no chance against her demonstration, but neither did he. Years of practice made it almost a game, the happiness and joy gleamed in her eyes, as well as excitement and strength illuminated her form. Steps, her movement like a dance, it was too glorious to ignore; passion made her unique, a dream gave her encouragement to continually work, to continue learning, and to be the best she could be. 

Realization of how his feet were rooted as he watched made him wonder if he was the only one affected. A furtive glance at the other knight who was there to instruct and at the others concentrating on the lesson told him it was. What had he been thinking? He must have been overworked, why else would his mind begin to dwell? 

It would not do, what does a blacksmith need of a Knight? To be in their service no doubt, to fire the metal, a servant no less. To avoid, it would be difficult, but not impossible. So avoid it he must, and he hurried into the stables to keep busy. Her voice carried; authority with humility he would say and discipline with patience.

Every year, farmers or fighters were sent down to the castle to see if there was any use for them, for their families wished to improve their state of living or to keep their sons out of trouble. Jane loved a challenge, a test, or practice of her skills. If they proved themselves worthy, then they received the honor of being taught by the few knights in the king's service. If not, then they were sent away, with letters of recommendation to assist them in their future endeavors. 

Pig observed her owner; the listless look as he polished a few swords, the year's worth of sigh, and the trouble which lined his brows. Humans, so dishonest; if only they were animals, it would be as easy as scented glands and food offerings. In her mouth, she carried a shiny buckle which earned her a belly rub and fresh turnip from the garden. “Where did you find this girl?” The blacksmith wondered. “Did I lose one of my buckles?”

Her snout sniffed and pointed in an unwanted direction; leading Smithy again towards his forge. Smithy stopped before leaving the stables, knowing there was much work to be done still. He must ignore her, and work hard to forget impetuous feelings; to repress this weakness. With a quick decision, he made his way towards the weaponry room and gave it its due attention, which took a better part of the morning. The quality of metal found varied depending on the age and style of weapon or sword; in the far corner a dull practice sword caught his eye and he thought it was very much like the one he had owned back home; one he had not used in a long time.

The remainders of his past could be felt if he removed his gloves; calluses, mixed with scattered burn scars from his current occupation. Father taught him well; of the dangers of thieves and robbers, to make his emotions invisible, to fool others into believing he was less than what he was, and to fight with little mess. If he took up a sword again as he had many years ago, perhaps his thoughts would not be in vain. 

If he wanted to, he could easily equal Gunther in skill, but match Sir Theodore in the discipline. However, he was unlike his father, and he preferred it that way.

* * *

Jane rubbed salve on her tired hands; grateful its effect was immediate and cooling. She was happy to have a little time to herself before she would be required to change into more formal attire. When one protected the Queen, style, and appearance were above everything else. Even if Jane was allowed to wear her armor, it was only with the modified gown she was required to wear. Over the years, she had learned the benefits and downsides to being a female and a Knight, but she was both, and more often than not she took pride in it. 

At one time, she would have refused to be seen in such fabrics; afraid of Gunther’s teasing. The first time she had worn them, Gunther had seen, and had not teased her, but stood silent. It was peculiar, she had to admit, but she was relieved. Jester thought her appearance wonderful; showering her with various compliments, but those made her feel cautious; the attention received was unwanted, but the words of another comforted her. When Smithy had first seen her, she had needed him to ready her horse so that she could follow the Queen and her ladies. At that time, he expressed his simple congratulation, and he complimented how the armor suited her smile. 

The recollection of those memories gladdened her heart as she dressed in those garments she sometimes hated, but it tested her as well. Gunther would not be pleased to see her talking to another, nor would Jester be happy if she chose her fellow Knight. Another trouble with being a female is that you are sent to humble submission. Why did she have to choose? Could she not enjoy her life a little longer before her mother badgered her of duties and all that? 

One day, Jane hoped, there would be someone who understood her heart as well as she did; to allow her to live and breath, and be her compliment and companion in life. However, she would choose when she was ready, and she did not care to yet. Fixing her hair, and rubbing scented oils on her skin, she sighed and left her tower, determined to do her best. Down the stairs, she crossed the courtyard and smiled at Smithy who was washing her horse. He looked troubled for a moment; his cloudy blue eyes looked away, but then they shone with a fire she could not explain, and he smiled at her with a brightness he hardly showed. 

Jane quickened her pace then; her foolish heart becoming a tangled mess. She knew better than to appear too eager, or to display more emotion than she intended to show; knew better than to believe friendship could be confused with anything else and had to remember how kindness showed was simply his way. Off to the throne room, she went, away from such distractions. His eyes followed her figure until she disappeared around a corner. Smithy hoped she could not see his feelings.


	2. Patience And Tests

In the royal garden, Jester told his stories to the King, who was taking the sun before he had to go and listen to the townspeople's problems. “..... A rose is a rose I suppose, to those who know it has no nose. I close the door forevermore on those I cannot face. I call from grace, for everything that had been said, is forever a disgrace.”

The King twirled his fingers in a half-hearted fashion; amused, but growing weary. “Excellent! Well done, but I am tired of the tragedies. I want something new, and with a happy ending. You can do that, can you not?”

Years of study and regular practice of his creativity; of observances of beauty and finery; wooing audiences and thirsting for their attention made him a genius in his own right. And like the quick-witted creative he was, Jester crafted a story as though from thin air and thought of familiar people who would serve his story purposes. With clarity, he started; losing himself in his imaginings.

_ “There once was a blacksmith who fell in love with a flame. Now to others it may have sounded like divination, but in actuality, it was not the fire he had loved, but a girl who reminded him of the flame, for her hair more often than not fluttered and waved about in the wind like a spark turned to flame. Her mind was sharp, as well as her manner tempestuous, but he was of a more gentle sort and found amusement in her ways. He knew there was little he could do, for she was above his station, except perhaps to do what he usually did, and deal with metal. _

_ An idea came to him, that if he could not become or control a flame, then he must become like those who could withstand its heat. He formed himself a suit of armor, similar to what the girl would wear, and was determined to be her compliment. She hated him immediately, for she stood alone and needed no one, he knew this, but he expressed his intentions, and still, she was the tempest he knew. In respect, he challenged her to an honorable duel, and if he should win, then he would get one wish, but if she won, then she may kill him.  _

_ With his armor and shield, he guarded and evaded, while she struck him with various blows. After a while, blood from cuts ran along his face and arms, but he stood his ground. Her stubborn heart began to see reason, but she would not fail, or else he would win, and she would become a slave to his wish. This went on until the evening until fatigue got the better of her, and he was left standing as the winner. He kneeled before her, ready with his wish, and she hated him more than ever.  _

_ However, she was surprised by his wish which was to be able to stand by her in silence, to be her strength and shield even if he knew she could protect herself, but nothing more. Her eyes widened at this, for she was sure he intended to take her as his wife, and she would lose her way of life. Humbled by his loyalty and strength, she agreed to this, and in time she fell in love with him, for she could not love by halves, and they were married. Together, they battled enemies on the battlefield, him deflecting blows, her striking foes. Together, they strengthened and loved, as equals and each other's compliments.” _

“This is a new class of story, yes? It is unheard of.”

“Yes my Lord, but it could happen. Other impossible things have happened before.”

The king was reminded daily of the improbabilities in his kingdom; from female Knights to dragons, and of turnips which had grown in the likeness of his face; not so impossible after all. “Yes, now tell me the story of the Roman tragedy again.”

With a roll of his eyes, the fool acquiesced. “Yes, my lord.”

* * *

After a long day of training, the lady knight was eager for a filling meal. “I am so hungry I could eat a horse.”

“Eh, not if you spent as much time mucking their stables.”

Jane flashed her friend that beguiling look which he knew meant nothing more than her usual mischievousness. If only she knew how burdensome such a look would play over in his mind hours later when it was thought of as nothing but a look in her wonderful mind. “Then I am simply hungry, for anything but liver.”

Smithy was starved, but not for his meal. Being in want of conversation, he would not have minded if they could carry on a little longer as she would with the others, but he did not have the same well-trained manners as some other staff did. For now, he would not test it for it was not the time. "Well said." Was his simple reply.

Mealtime was always lively and was still the tradition the young staff kept over the years. Class distinction could not keep them apart nor did the change in circumstance. For example, everyone knew that the cook and gardener would marry, and they had, but otherwise not much has changed except for natural growth and feelings. Still, despite it all, Smithy allowed himself to be content for a moment. All was well, and he could delight in the happiness of his friends. 

After they had eaten the evening meal of mutton and simple vegetables, they showered praise upon the pale cook. “The vegetables were wonderful… Pepper.” Smiled the gardener at his petite wife.

Rake neither concealed his devotion nor adoration of his beloved. The pair might have been married for a few years, but they were still shy when it came to public displays of affection. “Oh Rake,” Pepper whispered; a blush dusting her cheeks as she gifted him with a kiss on his forehead. “you are such a wonderful man.”

At times, it was awkward to watch such displays, but they led a good example of what a good marriage ought to have; a sincere, deep affection for one another. Was it not natural they would feel adoration for one another, especially for two who embraced their softer emotions as they had? As one another's compliments, and with coinciding duties, nothing was lost in their union, but only gain. And that is more than most could hope for.

Across from Smithy, Jane and Jester were laughing at some joke the jester had said in her ear. There was no grace in her laughter; it was sloppy, loud, unladylike, and her face scrunched up in what would have appeared to be great pain if she was not smiling; he would know the sound of it anywhere. It was always in vain that she would try to restrain such a laugh; it was unique and could not be predicted in its loudness or length, but it was a great descriptor of her character; of uncontrolled joy.

Smithy stood then; he would not forget himself in this environment; it could have been far too easy. Setting his face like the calm before a storm, he left under the excuse of tiredness before dessert could be offered; envy coloring his palette and tainting the pleasure such a meal could bring. With heavy steps, he escaped to his dwelling next to the stables. 

At his departure, the corners of the fool's mouth turned upward, and he continued as though nothing was amiss.

* * *

Smithy was above feeling; stoicism being his safeguard and shield, but somewhere along the way there were hairline cracks. If he had continued his studies, then perhaps his mind would have been too cluttered to weaken. When did he become this way?

Oh, who was he fooling, he could hardly remember the way those lines and squiggles became letters, which flooded and drowned together as words, and bodies of texts which fill codex after codex. He was human after all, and it would have been disappointing to his father if he had witnessed the blacksmith’s behavior, but this made Smithy smile a little for his father was a little less than human. 

“Meow.” Spoke his feline friend.

“What adventures have you had since I saw you last?”

With her tail waving about, she mewed again. She was good company and spoke very little, even if he would never understand what she had said. “I see. Well, do not wait on my account. As you were Mercy.”

The sound of mice no longer disturbed Smithy, for the starved cat he had found not long ago had kept busy at her duty. No longer were its rib bones visible, or her eyes so cautious, but with a sense of belonging she settled into the castle grounds, keeping it pest-free to the best of her ability. With grace, the tawny feline walked about the beams, searching for its latest prey in the regal way such creatures carried themselves. It must be wonderful to have claws to climb with, he thought, along with fur to keep warm, and the freedom of defiant independence which they lived by. Of course, it was mostly admiration, for he did not mind being a man, except when it was most distressing.

The bed of hay he called a bed reminded him of his boyhood days before his removal to the castle. He did not have much family to speak of, but he had Pig, his friends, and his mother; who was in good health and showed little sign of slowing down from what he had observed during his last visit. Perhaps his mother was sitting before a fire right now, humming the ancient songs of her homeland, nursing the children of his neighbors, or whispering her dreams and thoughts to the hills and mountains. For her, it was a simple life, but a good one. Yet, that was her life and not his anymore.

As a blacksmith, there was a constant stream of duties, but without his work attire, and outside the smithy, he was reminded that he was just Jethro Junior, the pig farmer he was born to be, the person he was destined to be; work, food, and rest, there had to be more than just the repeat of a daily chore. At this his thoughts drew back to his feline friend; had he claws, fur, or had been an animal, Smithy could visit and explore far off places. The world, its creatures he longed to acquaint himself with, and all the sweet figs to eat, where would the freedom in the leisure of exploration come from? He did not have that luxury.

Life and its nuances did not seem to be enough at times, and there was longing for excitement and perhaps even…but he would not mention. Before he could make himself sick with the drink, Pig squealed, waking him from whatever it was he planned to do. “I know I should not drink,” He confessed to his sow, “for it would not do to be inebriated while on duty, but what of now Pig?”

Surely it was fine for he was currently not on duty, but Pig rolled around, glanced back at her owner, then repeatedly nuzzled his hand. That is right, he remembered; setting down his drink and rising from the stool, he apologized. “Where are my manners, you must be in want of dinner. I will be back straightaway.”

He was grateful Pig was not picky. Vegetable peelings, roots, scraps from the royal table, and cut grass from the garden; the sow had a varied diet. As usual, Smithy made his way to receive goods for his pet when he was met by a familiar face. “There you are Smithy,” Came the cheerful greeting. “you left so quickly.”

“Rake,” He wondered, “what are you doing down there?”

As though it were a natural everyday occurrence, the gardener answered, “I am talking to the flowers; they prefer nighttime stories over compliments.”

“Huh. Well, I am on my way to retrieve Pigs dinner.”

“Here, take these apples. I believe she will enjoy their sweetness.”

“Thank you.”

And before the blacksmith could get too far, Rake mentioned, “Say, are you alright? I mean, you seem quieter than usual.” Though, in what way, the Rake was not sure. “Pepper wanted to know if dinner was agreeable for you?”

It was a rare moment of insightfulness from the gardener, but it did not alarm the blacksmith. “Tell Pepper that dinner was delicious. As far as being quiet, I suppose none of us can compete with Jester, for conversation tends to escape me and stick to him more often than not. Otherwise, I am alright.”

“Alright, well goodnight Smithy.”

“Hopefully. Goodnight.”

* * *

Sleep was unkind to Smithy, and he woke in a cold sweat. In his nightmares the scenes had been horrific; it had been years, but the sounds and smells haunted him still. Beside him, Pig slept soundly which eased him a little, and he hoped he would not have to face another sleepless night. Never, he promised, would he be like him; like his father who had been reckless, destroyed without feeling, and to cause trouble for others. 

Yet what was he supposed to do now that had woken? Everyone else should have been asleep, but perhaps an evening stroll might do him some good. Without his leather apron, he felt naked but lighter as he stepped into the crisp and humid night. The season spoke with the cricket's song, the fullness of that moon, and the scents of evening blooms. And although he had thought everyone would have been asleep, he spotted Jane in the darkness; her figure kissed by the moon as she walked back and forth on the battlements. Hmm, it was her turn to do the night watch; he would not disturb her, or rather he should not…but he could not sleep.

* * *

Tonight was bound to be another peaceful evening. It would be a few hours until Gunther replaced her for duty, but until then she had the view of a clear, starry night to herself. “The moon is so bright this evening.” Jane whispered to no one.

A chuckle beside her made her flush in embarrassment, body tense, and ready to strike. “The moon is bright every evening, except when the clouds shield her.”

Relieved it was not Gunther, she relaxed, but only a little. “I know, I am almost blinded by its beauty. But Smithy, why are you not sleeping? You have much work to do in that morning, do you not?”

He stood at a distance so that his eyes could not betray him. “Sleep escapes me at the moment.”

“It happens to me from time to time,” She confessed; staring at the heavenly bodies in the sky that mere mortals could not begin to comprehend. “and then I am left laying there; thinking about past embarrassments or mistakes, but tomorrow is always fresh, with no mistakes in it yet. I am comforted by this, and I try a little harder not to mess up.”

She was no stranger to hardship and she at times covered up the fact that she too could fall prey to anxieties, but it was another quality that endeared her to him; her fortitude and endurance. Strange how his distress made him available for others who were more deserving, but although he could not reach out and comfort her in a casual manner that Jester could, Smithy had his method. “I know it can be difficult at times, to deal with the injustices around you, but it is admirable to see your hard work is not in vain. Well done Jane.”

“Thank you, Smithy.”

The scent of cherry blossoms was carried by the breeze, passing all around them. Like a flame her hair danced and fluttered; crowning her in beauty. A thudding heart and a sense of quiet understanding were there, but neither would speak of it. Call it fear, call it a duty, or whatever words are used by those who allowed nations or winds, or walls of some sort to stand before them. It was not the time, but when would it ever be?

“I should go,” His gentle voice allowed. “it would not look well if Sir Theodore saw you slacking in your duties.”

“I am still able to watch, there is no distraction in our conversation.”

There were books and ballads which could better describe what he wanted to say, but he was not a hero or a nobleman who spoke with grandness, but a humble blacksmith. “I am not concerned by your ability to do your duty, Jane,” He explained, “but of the propriety of our meeting. It would not look well to be seen together under these circumstances.”

She looked upon his face and understood. There was no jest or meanness laced in his words, but respect and sincerity. “Oh, perhaps it is best. Goodnight Smithy.”

“Goodnight… Jane.”

That night he slept a sleep he had not known for a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are enjoying this so far


	3. Honest Jealousy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn’t mention it earlier, but Jester is a bit more sinister in my fic.

With clenched fists, Gunther kneeled before the princess to accept the daisy chain. With pride, Lavinia started, “I proclaim you my eternal protector, who shall serve me even in the shadows, and burn against the light and obey my every command.” And pausing for a moment to take a deep breath, she studied him, finding that she preferred a subdued Gunther over a loud one. She continued, “Now if you would be so kind as to help me upon my pony, so that I may ride upon her and laugh at the Prince of the Wind, who thought himself grand enough to please me.”

The Princess at fourteen years old still held an air of playfulness which was especially apparent when Gunther was most unhappy. Jane assumed that perhaps her little majesty was not so little anymore. Why, she dared to believe it possible, that Lavinia had fallen in love with him; believing Gunther could be a fairy prince whose soul was divided into two entities, and only her love could reclaim him. Or, it might have been her attempt to keep him distracted. Nevertheless, Jane would remain vigilant about that matter, as well as her mother, who had similar suspicions. 

Before her stood dummy, and beside dummy stood the fool. “Now that is classic.” 

Indeed, it was amusing, but there were still tasks to be done. “Her little majesty might be convinced to spare Gunther in place of the man who fell from the moon.”

“Are you referring to me?”

“If I was not,” Jane reasoned, “then I might as well say I meant Dragon, though I am not so convinced he could pretend as well as you could.”

Dragon might have been persuaded if she asked him, but he looked preoccupied at the moment with the castle's latest cow. “He may be a beef brain,” She continued, “but Gunther takes his duty very seriously, and I will require his skills to help me when these recruits are acting particularly stupid.”

“Do I have to?”

“Who else will assist me with these young minds?” Jane reasoned, “Do I have to spell it out for you?”

“Fine, but not yet. I am enjoying the view.”

Not this again. Jest or not, she had neither the patience nor the time. “Jester, if you could enjoy the view from somewhere else, it would be helpful."

But at times he seemed to have selective hearing; almost like her mother. “Seeing as none of them are more handsome than Dragon, I am relieved to say there will be no threat to my happiness.”

Again she noticed it, heard it in that tone of voice, saw it in that look; it was what she had been avoiding for eight years. As a young woman of a certain class, many wanted to trap her in the binding vows of marriage; whether it was for her novelty, appearance, or title. It scared her, for it had taken years to earn the freedom she had always wanted, and it would take longer for other small freedoms. Not now, and perhaps not him as she once thought it may have been; the years had allowed her time for reflection. “Jester, this is not the time. I do not find this...whatever has been going on lately as amusing as you would believe. This competition with other men, as though….you understand do you not?”

It was an annoyance, as well as pain. She cared for Jester, loved him as her best human friend, but in the end, his constant attention, his flightiness, and his artist personality, was his gift, but a curse to their compatibility. No, no one will control her, claim her as though it was destined, or if life had set a plan, stripping her of free will. No, no one will do that ever again, not even well-meaning friends. Jester did not acknowledge her discomfort, but he played along. “Forgive me, my lady Knight, for the stars in your eyes encourage this wild heart of mine.”

Pretty words they were, but one grows immune to such flattery when faced with it daily. She tightened the grip on her wooden sword; almost at her wits end. “We will speak of it later. For now, either face the wrath of my sword or run.”

He ran with a smile on his face until he reached the stables; delighted that he had incurred her anger. True, it was unkind to goad her or to tease, but it illuminated the facets of her eyes that the fool could not help but crave for a proper tongue-lashing if it meant a sliver of such rare beauty. Oh, how he wanted to frown at those bright-eyed peasants looking upon his Jane. Worse yet, the fool's heart was twisting with an ugliness he thought he had put away; jealousy that ate away at him until even his friends seemed like foes. And nearby there was another enemy to his happiness; his friend Smithy who was brushing his beloved's horse.

* * *

Smithy shook his head, trying to stop his current line of thought. Jane was a living spark, the kind that caused forest fires, whose heat scorched any who were not careful. He knew it would not be wise to entertain the idea, any idea that involved her. Yet, there he was, admiring the sight of her scolding one of the new recruitments while brushing the fur of Jane's brown mare. Sensing his anxiety, the horse neighed, pushing her head into his hand, trying to comfort him in its way. “Steady girl. I will be fine, so there is no need to worry.”

In truth, he would be fine. He had faced greater things, more detrimental, painful important things, and this would not claim him. “I will not worry.”

The fool was careful to not get so close, or else the animals may betray him; sensing his false sincerity. “Worry about what?”

“Nothing Jester, just the usual things there are to worry about.”

“I see. Another pig of a problem is it not?”

Turning his head to appreciate the view, Jester sighed, “Jane is looking very pretty today, ay? Well, every day she is prettier than the last.

The blacksmith paused his activity but soon resumed. There was some truth to Jester's words, but Jane's outward beauty only complemented that of her inward beauty; of the kind, self-sacrificing soul that was always ready to help her friends. Smithy’s reply had been one that Jester had said to Jane many years ago. “She is yearn.”

Hmm, was that a rosy tint on the tips of the blacksmith's ears? As Jester had suspected, Smithy was not so blind to women after all. Though, this revelation served as little consolation for they both favoured the same girl and that would not do. "You have a great view of the yard I dare say. Why, you have a front-row seat to marvel at her, though I am sure horses are your preference.”

It may have been a mistake, but for a moment Smithy thought there might have been double meaning in his friend's words. Then again, it was Jester, he had a talent with words. It did not matter, because he did not think himself any greater or lower than his friend, but similar, in a sense. “Animals are the only living creatures that are honest. So yes,” The blacksmith admitted, “I prefer them above everything else.”

The fool's eyes glistened as he watched Jane and Gunther in their usual competition. Gunther had just finished explaining the reason for patience and discipline while finding ways to annoy Jane until she burst with anger. Of course, she knew this, so she explained the need to guard your heart, for it was a treacherous thing. “You still have not told her?” Smithy wondered.

“What can be said Smithy? I try to tell her all the time, but she believes I am jesting. If I was like you, then perhaps she would have reason to say yes.”

Smithy raised his eyebrows, for he did not believe this. Jester, in his moment of jealousy of Gunther, had forgotten the jealousy for the blacksmith, but he remembered it soon enough. If Jester was like Smithy, there was no doubt he would have had the strength to defeat Gunther, not only with a sword but permanently if he needed to. Yet, his strength lay elsewhere; in his words, being already a step above the blacksmith. If he needed to, twisting stories would not hurt either. “Say, you must know it by now.”

“Hmm?”

“Certainly you have heard what the chambermaids have said of you.”

The fool looked away, waiting for the proper response. “I have not.” Replied the blacksmith. 

The fool hoped for better, but he was not finished yet. “Why it was only the other day, I was passing along, when I heard the laughter of two young maidens, and thought, ‘Are not women in another class of their own?’ and then your name was mentioned along with two other words, and it was laughter, a blush, and a tease.”

“Are you not going to say?”

There, he was sure he had him now. “They called you handsome and named you stable prince. There was more, but it was rather delicate, and one teased the other, so I lost my nerve and held onto my hat as I ran the other way.”

“Oh, that is all?”

Smithy knew a few fancied him, and dared to think him handsome, but was that it? What of his pain, of his intellect, of his love of nature, of his kindness, did any of that matter?

“Come now, are you not touched that a female has set her sights on you?”

“It is flattering, but I am not a conquest, I am a blacksmith.”

“And I am a fool in love, but while I cannot do anything to help myself, I know there must be some way to help you, for I know that you are unhappy."

The word the fool should have said was lonely. Happiness was what everyone craved, but the blacksmith had moments of it. Though, when he saw her leave every day, the effect was immediate. "Thank you, Jester, but perhaps another time."

"Very well then. If I can help, do not hesitate to ask. I might even convince the young maiden to make her feelings known to you.”

“That will not be necessary, but thank you anyway.”

“Alright, have it your way. It is about time for me to get going, and see if the little majesties will need assistance in their language studies.”

Jester would have to take action if he planned to succeed, and he had an idea of where to start. Without conversation as an excuse, Smithy returned to his duty. He did not mind it for his work kept him busy enough, but every so often he felt the pang of what he might have called loneliness. Horses were honest, people were not. In time, he would learn to be just as honest, but it might one day be his downfall.

* * *

After the training practice was over, Gunther again brought up dangerous topics; ones she would rather avoid. So she inquired of his horse or the rising prices of grains; Jane had her father to thank for the useful information. This frustrated him; it was already hard to voice his intentions. Jane heard him, and he frowned at her behaviour but did not relent; it was not his fault she was being stubborn like always. “Bat bladders Jane, you know exactly what I mean to say, do you not?”

“Of course, I do, and I also know orchids are wicked expensive, but I do not complain. If you will excuse me, I have other matters to take care of.”

“This is not over Jane.”

“And another time I will be ready with expense reports from the last harvest.” She commented over her shoulder.

If she did not find something to do, then she would surely go mad. And as though her wishes were heard, Pig walked straight to her with a buckle in her mouth, dropping it before her. She recognized it at once, being the missing buckle from her saddlebag. “Thank you Pig.”

How would she fix it if she did not know how to fix it? A furtive glance towards the stables made it obvious; she had to go to the one person who could. Perhaps, Smithy could keep her distracted, and perhaps she would like it.


	4. Rational Sarcasm

The wind picked up, and carried a damp, earthy scent; a storm was approaching, but hopefully, it would soon pass; Smithy thought it would be wise to remember to close the shutters to the upper passageway as a precaution. The warm breeze added to his discomfort as sweat dripped from his forehead, and into his eyes where it burned. No matter, what comfort could be had in which he deserved? Everything up to this point he worked hard for, and like the big things, the little things required effort.

Fortunately, this was a day he would not have to spend before his fire, but rather with minor repairs about the castle; which brought its fair share of difficulties. Yet, right now he did not have to rush; the animals deserve the utmost best when it came to their care. Sounds of breathing and gentle sayings were the norm around the horses; nothing exciting, as it should be, as it should always be, but rather steady, gentle caresses from the blond, and words any lady would find deserving; these were the privileges of the colts and mares in the king's service. It was right around this time that Pig waddled past Smithy's feet; her snout searching for edibles the horses dropped. “Have you come to help me clean?”

She looked up at the sound of his voice, sniffing around, and found some carrot, and nibbled it; happy with her find. Work and good company, what more could he want? With ungloved hands, Smithy soothed and calmed the creatures before him, mostly the brown-haired beauty. In his hands, the chestnut mare would attempt great jumps or outpace other horses. Truly, she was a little too much like her owner, and this in itself was encouragement. 

If only his talent worked with another beauty; one he should not name. He shut his eyes and allowed his hands to see for him so that he could comfort in his slow, careful way. The pang struck him when the lady knight’s image flickered in his mind, and the thought of rejection stabbed him. She could not care for him was what he thought and whatever friendliness displayed was only friendship. If only people were like animals, who could never hide their feelings and were direct about their intentions by action or scents. 

In between thoughts, a wanted interruption came by. “Smithy,” The siren song beckoned, “if you would be so kind as to saddle my horse.”

The blacksmith was sure he did not smell that great, seeing as he had been sweating and tending to the horses. And yet, what did it matter? He was exactly who he appeared to be, and that was that. Feel nothing he told himself, be calm, say nothing to bring about his weakness. Smithy stopped mid-caress, opened his eyes, and faced the other wall. “Is that all?” Came his monotone.

“No.”

“Surprise.”

“This buckle here,” The lady knight explained, “Pig brought it to me, and I believe it belongs to one of my saddlebags.”

Pig snorted in acknowledgement and ran off before a proper scolding could be administered. And the blacksmith dared a glance then and removed all traces of warmth; leaving only a monotonous answer. “And you want me to fix it?”

“Yes.” Jane answered, “If you can.”

From time to time, the blacksmith inspired fear, and he could sense the shift in tone and posture from her. Mentally he cursed his father, for teaching him this way of thinking, and started to reason. Tension dropped from his shoulders then and the beginnings of a smile could be seen. Jane was not like the others who used him ill, but a friend he could trust, and he did not want to make things harder for her. Even if it hurt him, he would show mild leniency towards her, for she had done nothing, except widen the hairline cracks. “Well, seeing as I finished my other duties ahead of schedule, it should be done no later than this afternoon.”

“Thank you Smithy, that would be champion.”

“Now, if I could have the buckle please.”

The drumbeats of his heart he tried to quiet; like a spark, she started the conflagration in his bones. If he were sliced open, for sure there would be a puddle where the most important organs should be. As the brush of her fingertips in his open palm occurred, he almost dared to close his hand over those cracked, calloused hands, whose roughness would tell the story of her courage and dedication. Of course, his father taught him better, so he betrayed nothing. “I will work on it as soon as possible.”

With all the steps to saddle her horse, he was almost glad he did not have to face her. No time was wasted in the effort of this task. Nonetheless, the skies were several shades of grey, not so threatening, though a little less inviting than before. And just like the sky, his feelings were ever-changing; feelings were a dreadful thing, and the force to look away took more effort than he realized.

Mercy mewed at the redhead, earning a head scratch. Strange, thought the blacksmith, the tawny feline was cautious of most if not everyone. Perhaps she saw something in Jane, something worth knowing and understanding, but Smithy bit the flesh inside his cheek; he would not relinquish himself so easily. Why would he need to?

He barely looked at her, as though she were a shadow and the air. Jane hated how he seemed a little distant at times. It might have been true, that animals were his only passion. The horses were never in want, neither were Pig, Mercy, and all the chickens in the hen house. Only they knew the truth, they could sense it, feel it, know it. Perhaps like them, his perception and sensitivity to the world made him different.

Some may call it an obsession, or dedication. Then again, she could have said the same about her knighthood. They were similar, but the differences were great. Therefore, there was little to no danger in her getting to know him. “You were not at the morning meal,” She attempted at conversation, “yesterday neither.”

She took notice, as a friend of course. What weight was behind such words? It would mean nothing, even if it was there, it would continue to mean little to nothing. That was what made it worse, and it added to his ongoing disappointments. “I was not hungry.” He confessed.

“By midday, you will surely have an appetite.”

“Perhaps.”

One-word answers, how unsatisfactory they were. A trait of his, a fault, one of his many. What reservations were needed among friends? There was no reason for this.

“It might be mutton.” She suggested.

He dared another glance but decided at the last second to glance at the empty stall beside him. “That would be nice.”

Fresh hay lined the horse stalls, their perfume the essence of country life once lived. No one she knew, could have said there were creatures better cared for. Be that as it may, who was the one who cared for him? Someone had to. And in an attempt to brighten the conversation, she mentioned, “Your hard work shows. I am glad the king has someone he can trust.”

He wanted to believe her words, but he was no different from any other as far as skills went. “There are many who could be counted as trustworthy, including you Jane.”

“I could never lift a hammer as you can.”

This caught his attention, and her emerald eyes flared with determined competitiveness. She was baiting him with flattery, a tactic she must have acquired from her lady in waiting training. Being the passive-aggressive he was, this was his reply, “You could, with a little practice of course.”

“You think I can, aye? My mother would have a few things to say on the matter.”

“You have proved her wrong before, and no doubt she will always have something to say on any matter.”

“Perhaps, I could become a part-time blacksmith, you seem to have your work cut out for you.”

He shrugged his shoulders and handed her his hammer, “If you wanted to, how could I deny you the privilege?”

As he watched her try to lift it, he wondered if he had ever denied her anything, and although difficult, Jane managed to lift it once, before allowing it to drop away from her feet. “I guess I can lift it.”

“Did you think you could not?”

She almost felt annoyed at the sarcasm, but then smiled, because this was his usual behaviour. No one she knew, could care the way he cared. No one made sassy retorts endearing. An even sweeter smile joined with her uncontrolled laugh made his heart leap for joy. There was much to be said, so much they should not think to mention; it would soil what peace they had. “If you offered advice on the proper procedure,” She softened, “then I would think over your suggestions, and come to a conclusion of my own.”

Nothing lasting was behind that voice and smile, he repeatedly thought to himself, and that monotonous voice was back. “Then you know the answer?”

He would not dare call her fickle, would he?

“Would I?” Her fists balled, “I suppose many would think I would not know.”

It was not beyond his notice, and he flashed her that sincere smile of a friend, the one age, nor time could not remove. “If you know, they would not. If they know, you would not. In time, you would, if not at the very moment, for hasty decisions are not wise ones. Here you are, Jane.”

Like that, her anger melted away. Over time, it had become a habit to become offended if any mention or related comment were due to her birth. However, how could she forget who was friend or foe? Jane took the reins from his hands, shocked by a different revelation. It was rare to see his naked hands, which were several shades lighter than his face. The welcomed delight of brushed hands was like the comfort of a hot beverage on a winter day. It was something she could get used to given the time, but it was over before it began. “Right, well off I go.”

Besides, the lady knight only admired him, and she was sure that it meant nothing, but the sincere feelings of a friend. And before she knew it, she mounted her horse, though looked down at her feet. Something felt off, though it was not so alarming as her thoughts were when Smithy started messing with the stirrup leather. “This will only take a moment.”

How beautiful they were, those white, strong, laborious hands. With them, he fixed the problem immediately, her smile a bit sheepish. “Am I a tree that keeps growing?”

“I am afraid so. We could try an axe,” He teased lightly, “though I believe a change of footwear is the main root of the problem. New boots?”

“No.”

He would have time to regret that comment later. Using what worked, he forced himself into normalcy. “Perhaps a swing from my hammer might do the job, it works on almost everything else.”

She punched his shoulder lightly. “If I were metal, then such things would be simple.”

That he would never wish. Without the heat, metal took force to bend and was cold to the touch. It was only near other temperatures that it took on the qualities of soft or hard, which he thought of himself. Simple, he thought it was, but that was after years of practice. It was fascinating, complex, and could look simple, or become unique, but only in the right conditions, with the proper skills and tools.

When she thought things could not get any worse, such a thing as growth had to occur and make her a little less ladylike. Jane did not care most of the time, but she cared from time to time, and when she did, it was disheartening. No matter, she would soon get used to the idea, and the stirrups were adjusted again until she felt they were to his liking. “I might be gone for most of the day. If anyone asks…”

“Tell them to mind their own business.” He finished.

“In more or less terms, unless there is reasonable doubt.”

Another glance towards the sky made him wonder if he should voice his concerns. “Please be careful Jane, I do not like the look of those clouds.”

After the morning's events, this made her mad. “I can take care of myself.”

“That is not what I am concerned about Jane.”

Maggots, he must have been talking about the horse. She hoped that one day she would run out of mistakes. Unfortunately, this was not the day. Whatever passed over his eyes, she missed. And, if anyone was deserving of her anger, it was not him. “Sorry.”

“No harm done.”

A ride will ease her thoughts or tire her. Harm was always done, either by her hands or tongue. As long as she was distracted, there would be time to become rational again. Then again, what was rational about her life? Until Jane could make sense of a few matters, she would continue to be who she was, but was aware of how much she was in want of improvement.


	5. An Unnecessary War

No one asked about Jane's whereabouts; everyone must have assumed nothing was amiss. And with so much to do, Smithy allowed himself to forget the events of the morning. A pair of eyes watched him with much interest, hiding in a corner, hoping she would not be caught. A chambermaid whose name was Mary would not allow youth, race, or station to command her. Her reasons were many, and she could not help but think her stable prince was handsome. 

Through the eyes of a young maiden, she nearly gasped at the sight of his finely formed chest as she watched him loosen the strings of his shirt a little. If she were back home, her mother would have beat some sense into her, telling her how wicked it was to allow the eyes to wander. Perhaps it was wicked, but having the appearance of a Greek god did not help. When her thoughts were nearly sinful, she ran away, and her eyes nearly in tears at the beauty of such sights. Oh, it was a sin for such a person to exist.

In reality, this is what happened. As was his usual duty, Smithy mucked the stables. The physical exertion combined with the heat made him sweat profusely, and he loosened the strings of his shirt. The scent of horse dung and sweat stung his eyes and made them glisten, and he knew he was due for a bath by the smell of his armpits. Poking at his stomach, he groaned in hunger; in all his stubbornness, he had avoided eating, and now he was paying with the gnawing in his belly.

In the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a figure, but then again it could have been his thoughts getting the best of him. The thought of laundry came to his mind as he wheeled the dung towards Rakes garden. Oh well, it would all resolve itself once he finished his duty and ate double portions at the midday meal.

* * *

Elsewhere in the castle, a raven-haired Knight contemplated a very distressing matter. How in the world would he ask Jane to court him? How would he court her if it meant leaving her knighthood behind? How could he possibly win her over? The usual methods did not work, she did not seem to understand his compliments, and orchids were definitely out of the question. 

Bat bladders, why did she have to be so unlike other girls? However, was that not why he liked her? No, it was more than that. Over the years, she had more than enough proved her worth as a Knight, a comrade, and a friend. He knew she liked flowers, food, and fighting, but how could he combine these into something she would accept from him? 

Gunther could not ask his father, and Sir Ivon was crude on such matters, so there was only one person he could ask. When he had reached a particular wooden door, he knocked and waited. The creak of wood, slow footsteps, and a throat clearing, made him feel small, like the young squire he used to be. Only with the sight of the aged knight, who had changed little, but gained a few wrinkles and greying hair, reminded him that he was no bratty child competing with a girl to see who was tougher. “Sir Theodore,” He started, “may I speak with you?”

He sighed, slightly unsure whether this was the right choice. Excusing a chambermaid, the aged knight smiled in knowing. “Come in.”

Panic concentrated in Gunther's stomach, and he hoped he could keep down the meal of swan and black truffles. Was it not possible that talking with Jane's mentor could make things more difficult? Oh well, there was no going back now. “Well… there is… that is to say… ugh... I am not sur-”

“This is about a girl, yes?”

“What? How di-”

A chuckle escaped him. “I believe this is similar to what happened eight years ago.”

Combing his fingers through his hair, Gunther focused his eyes on the dish of dried lavender and noticed a butterfly had settled itself upon a pile of parchment. The trembling of his hands settled a little, but his stomach was still angry and ached with every nervous inclination. “I… It is different this time.”

With the wave of a hand, the aged knight encouraged him to continue. “Sir, I was hoping you would spend a moment to talk about... Um... Females?”

“Not female horses, is it? If so, you may speak with the blacksmith.”

“Not female horses Sir Theodore, a girl. Um, a girl of the court, who is a friend of mine. She likes me, I think.”

If he knew better which he did, and knew who this female was, which he most likely did, then this would not end well. “You think? Is there a reason to believe otherwise?”

“It is hard to be sure since mostly she insults me.”

The warmth of the afternoon made the young knight glow. With special attention, Sir Theodore saw how he fought with himself. Fear had always been the darkness which he thought would be Gunther's downfall, but now, watching him trying with sincerity to speak what was on his mind softened him. Yet, he was still his teacher, and mentor. “Ah, this is a dilemma. In such a case, we may cease this line of thought.”

With hardened eyes, Gunther wondered, “Why? Do you think it is a waste?”

“Not precisely. If I am correct in my assumptions, then this woman has displayed a sure sign of displeasure.”

Deep down Gunther thought he knew better, but it seemed as though history was bound to repeat itself. “Really?” Came his disappointment.

“Believe it or not,” He sniffed, “I have had a few dealings of my own, a few noteworthy, but sadly amounted to little. I have always taken a woman's scorn seriously, for it is usually a true sign of her affection.”

The raven-haired youth held tightly to a support beam, a little unsure of what to do with himself. Why did he bother to believe he could change things? Why did he bother to even wake up that morning? If anything ever mattered, it was her, and he would be bothered if he did not even try. Yet, like usual, there was a cloud of disappointment and disillusionment above his head, ready to rain on him. 

Sir Theodore felt minor regret for not choosing his wording more carefully, but he would rather not have a scandal in his hands. He continued, “Tread carefully, for a woman's heart is like a battlefield. If you plan to be successful then come up with a battle plan, think it over, then put it into action. You may or may not succeed, it all depends on how much you take the lead. However, if this is about a certain lady of the court, one who I have specifically taken under my guidance, then I suggest you surrender.”

Indifference and defiance sat like a bitter taste on his tongue, and it would not leave him no matter how many times Gunther tried to swallow. “If you believe I am incapable of making her happy then I will just have to prove it otherwise.”

Placing his thin hand on the lad's shoulder, Theodore shook his head. “I believe you are capable of great things, but that is separate. Matters of the heart are far more dangerous. There is no use going to war if the battle is already over. If you start a war, Sir Gunther, be prepared to face the consequences, for you may lose more than you could ever hope to gain.”

Gunther could not stand there any longer, for he feared he would fall prey to past weakness and lose his temper. Worse, he might cry like the last time, when he could not make heads or tails of his feelings. Coldly, he looked away. “I will excuse myself, Sir, before I say something I do not mean.”

“That is wise.”

Even in the heat of the day, Gunther appeared as though he would shake out of his skin. In an act of sincere affection, the aged knight hugged him. Age might have been making Theodore soft, or perhaps he sincerely wanted to believe him. Either way, he felt pity, terrible, drowning pity, for if there was anyone more deserving, it was the lad. Gunther shuddered, afraid, confused, and saddened beyond understanding.

Why did it feel so final, even when he was determined not to give up?

“I still have to try Sir,” Gunther muttered. “I need to try.”

“Then I wish you luck, for you are going to need it.”

Fight or flight? Neither, Gunther wanted this, needed this. He was so tired, tired of life sometimes and its disappointments, but he was glad to sometimes feel worthy of it. Perhaps all he needed was comfort and a friend among comrades.

Oh, how he hated himself and his weaknesses, but he no longer cared. With trembling arms, Gunther reached up and embraced him back. A tear or two may or may not have appeared in his grey eyes, but no one would know; it was a secret among comrades and men.

**Author's Note:**

> So far, I have 32 chaps, so get ready for them. :3


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